It all began innocently. You stumbled upon one of my photos online — I was wearing bold red lipstick, a sleek jumpsuit, and a sparkling vest — and felt an irresistible urge to comment. So, you decided to share your “humor” with the world, posting a quip that you thought was clever:
“Wow. That girl could really use a sandwich!!!”
So original, right? Clearly, this “skinny girl” needs to pile on a few more calories. A plate of greasy fries and a cheeseburger, or maybe just a few slices of deli meat would do. But believe it or not, this wasn’t the first time I’d encountered commentary like this. Standing at 5 feet and weighing 105 pounds, unsolicited opinions on my appearance come at me with alarming frequency. However, this was the first time a total stranger had critiqued my body online. As a writer, this comment was just one of countless on a piece focused on mental health.
I tried to dismiss it, but your words stuck with me. You see, your comment didn’t just slide off my back; it gnawed at me. It haunted me, and it stung because, deep down, I knew you had a point. I needed nourishment; my body was crying out for it. The discomfort in my stomach was a reminder of how I was neglecting myself. I felt weak, dizzy, and perpetually exhausted, and the truth is, I was starving myself. But eating was a battle I couldn’t seem to win.
Let me introduce myself: that girl has a name — Mia. I am a wife, a mother, a writer, and a mental health advocate. You might have discovered this if you’d taken the time to read my article. Perhaps you overlooked it, or maybe you simply didn’t care.
You probably wouldn’t know that “that girl” has a heart that’s both full and broken. I’ve experienced the joys of life, the sorrow of loss, and the immeasurable love that comes with parenthood, alongside the desperate hunger for food and nourishment that lingers in my mind.
You likely don’t care to understand that “that girl” has a backstory. I’ve battled an eating disorder, and the truth is, I grapple with its effects every single day. Even after seven years of what I consider “recovery,” I still find myself pulling at the skin around my waist, scrutinizing every inch. I see thick thighs where you see slender ones, and I can’t help but focus on the flaws that I perceive — uneven shoulders, slightly crossed eyes, and that never-ending struggle with my body image.
To cope, “that girl” exercises obsessively. I run five miles a day, five days a week, aiming to maintain my sanity and a slender figure. Running is not just a choice; it’s a necessity. My mind insists I keep going, and I comply.
I count not just calories but also sit-ups, steps, push-ups, lunges, and squats, all to determine if I’ve worked hard enough to “earn” a skim milk in my iced coffee or to share an Oreo with my daughter. Just the other morning, after a year-long hiatus, I stepped on the scale and felt the familiar dread wash over me.
So, while you may have thought your comment was harmless, a mere joke, it had a profound impact. “That girl” didn’t feel flattered; she felt judged. Once again, my body became the center of someone else’s scrutiny.
So please, think before you type. Every article has a person behind it — a journalist, a writer, a human being. You may not know their struggles or their journey.
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Summary
This piece discusses the impact of online commentary on body image, emphasizing that words can have lasting effects on individuals, especially those grappling with personal challenges. The author urges readers to be mindful of their comments, highlighting that behind every article is a person with their own story and struggles.